The Second Messiah

“Yeah, I heard you, but there’s been a change of plan,” he said matter-of-factly.

“There’s only one plan, Savage. The one I told you about—”

Vehemence sounded in Savage’s reply. “Listen, you piece of dirt, whoever you are. Just shut your mouth and hear what I have to say or you can kiss the scroll good-bye—that’s a promise.”

Savage heard the stunned silence down the line, and then the reply was pure fury. “Savage, you don’t know who you’re dealing with. If a man talks to me like that, he’d better be prepared to lose his life.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me right the first time. I said shut your mouth. Now you’re going to listen to my plan. Because if you think I’m going to walk into a trap you’ve got to be a total moron. I’ve got the scroll. And you want it. Are we at least clear on that? So from now on you do as I say.”

“I’ve got your friend Cane,” the caller protested, his voice still firm, but a slight waver there.

“Yeah, and his life obviously ain’t worth a cent if you’re prepared to trade it for the parchment. So this is how it’s going to pan out, pal; this is how we’re going to do our trade. But a word of warning: you try and mess with me and I swear I’ll burn the scroll to ashes. Got that?”

There was a long pause. Savage could almost feel the white-hot anger on the line, and then the voice, suddenly calm and very composed, said, “What do you propose?”

“This isn’t a proposal, it’s an order. You come alone and you bring Cane. And now here’s exactly how we’re going to do it.”

Savage sat for a moment, sweating, breathing deeply, thinking hard. His mind was ablaze as he removed his baseball cap and wiped his brow. He didn’t like the sound of the caller’s voice. Angry at first, then perfectly calm. A real pro, he guessed. Not someone you messed with.

But then neither was he.

Turning back to the briefcase, Savage hefted out a Browning 9mm pistol with polished walnut handles. The same gun Pasha had given him in case there were ever problems. The same gun he’d threatened Professor Green with before he’d used the knife instead and stabbed him to death.

Savage had stashed the pistol at Qumran behind a rock marker, ready to be retrieved if he needed it. And he needed it now. He needed it to put everything to bed, tie it all up in a neat bow, once and for all.

Nothing had gone the way he’d originally planned. The whole scheme was messed up, everything all over the place like a madman’s mind. But then every dark cloud had a silver lining. And he’d just been handed one—a chance to resolve the entire mess.

Savage felt the solid weight of the Browning pistol in his hand and checked to see that the magazine was loaded before he snapped it home. Then he tucked the pistol inside the briefcase and clicked it shut. He turned the ignition key and the Land Cruiser’s engine throbbed to life. He dimmed the lights and turned in an arc, heading for his new rendezvous.

135

The Serb turned the pickup onto the rocky desert track. Hassan sat in the passenger seat. Jack felt cramped between both men, his hands bound in front of him with thin, blue plastic rope. Dawn was still struggling to rise over the mountains of Edom.

Hassan said, “Pull in here.”

The Serb halted and jerked on the handbrake. The second pickup following them pulled up right behind. Hassan jumped out, clutching a pair of night-vision binoculars and used them to sweep the dusky, rolling desert landscape. Behind him, Yasmin disembarked from the other pickup and joined him. “Do you see Savage’s vehicle?”

“I see nothing.” Hassan put down the binoculars, his usually composed face tight with concern.

Yasmin said, “I don’t like this, Hassan.”

“Neither do I. But then nothing ever goes as planned, does it?” He kissed her on the forehead. “You will remain here, sister.”

“No, I want to go with you.”

Hassan’s hand came up and gently cupped her face. “No, you’ll stay. I don’t want you exposed to any more danger.” He slipped out a thin flashlight and flicked it on and off before he returned it to his pocket. “No matter what happens, stay put in the second pickup unless I give the signal that it’s safe to move, or I contact you on your cell phone. Otherwise, stay back at least a mile and keep the headlights off.”

“What about Cane? He’s not a bad man, Hassan, he’s not—”

Her brother put up his hand to silence her. “This is not the time for talk.”

Hassan clicked his fingers and the Serb jumped out of the driver’s seat. One of the bodyguards tossed him a Heckler & Koch machine pistol. The Serb climbed into the back of the pickup, cocked the weapon, and made sure the safety was on.

“Remember,” Hassan told him. “You don’t move unless I tell you to.”

“Of course, Mr. Malik.” The Serb grinned, as if relishing trouble, then lay down flat in the pickup, out of sight.

Yasmin asked, “Are you certain this is wise, Hassan? Savage said you were to go alone and unarmed.”